


Name Me The Wind

by largerthanlifeus



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: M/M, Slash, Trans Male Character, i haven't figured out a lot of shit yet, there will be a relationship in this story I just haven't figured out with who yet, this is totally one of those fell-into-book-world stories, whatever that is called when it's at home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8356894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largerthanlifeus/pseuds/largerthanlifeus
Summary: It all seemed like such a grand idea, touching that glowing ball of blue light. It was shiny and floating three feet off the ground and Makani just really needed to touch it. He couldn’t think of a single reason not to. Other than it was a glowing ball of blue light hovering over the ground in a dark and spooky forest. Because, as the part of his brain that normally loves to point out all the stupid shit he does would say, that’s something that never ends well for anyone. Especially the dead people.

  Good thing that part of his brain was silent right then. He’d hate to have to waste time arguing with himself when he could be poking potentially deadly glowy balls of doom.
Or: What happens when a perfectly normal trans guy finds himself stranded in the land of Tortall with nary a clue as what the fuck to do there.





	1. Chapter 1

It all seemed like such a grand idea, touching that glowing ball of blue light. It was shiny and floating three feet off the ground and Makani just really needed to touch it. He couldn’t think of a single reason not to. Other than it was a glowing ball of blue light hovering over the ground in a dark and spooky forest. Because, as the part of his brain that normally loves to point out all the stupid shit he does would say, that’s something that never ends well for anyone. Especially the dead people.

Good thing that part of his brain was silent right then. He’d hate to have to waste time arguing with himself when he could be poking potentially deadly glowy balls of doom.

The woodland debri of fall crunched under his hiking boots as he slowly treaded his way towards the light. It’d been another year of little rain and lots of fire. Everything around him was just begging for a stray spark to light it up. California was getting really good at setting itself on fire the longer the drought went on. Makani figured it was just the hot flashes before The Big One finally hit, any day now. 

And if it could hit before his next loan payment was due, that’d be swell.

From a foot away, the light didn’t give off any sound. He didn’t know why he expected it to crackle like fire or hum like high-volt lines. It didn’t look like either. It looked like nothing he had ever seen, except maybe in nature documentaries of magma churning just under ground. Only bluer. And a thousand times less hot. If he poked it, he wondered if it would ripple like water or stick to his fingers like warm taffy on the pull.

Turned out it did neither. 

What it did do--when he gave into the temptation to touch the damn thing because clearly he had lost his ever-lovin mind--was cover his finger in what felt like warm wet paint. And then it proceeded to slide up his hand...his arm...and, well, everything else. 

He had time to have two very distinct thoughts before the blue crawled up over his face.

The first being that you should always know better than to go poking your nose (and other extremities) into weird-ass shit in the forest.

And the second that wasn’t it weird that it tasted of pancakes?


	2. Chapter 2

If the Sierra Nevadas had seemed to be caught in a perpetual cycle of fire and drought, wherever the hell it was that Makani woke up had the opposite problem. Either Hell had indeed frozen over, and winter had come calling by the fucking truckload of ready-to-ski snow, or he was not in Cali anymore, Toto.

He must have not been out very long because when he blinked awake his fingers were only just starting to ache with cold. When he went to push himself up off the ground his hands sank a few inches before solid earth stopped them. His jeans had small water stains on his knees when he finally got up, and shoving his hands under his armpits to warm them did little for his bare arms. He was dressed for California in fall, not Narnia before those four brats killed the witch-lady (or whatever it was that they did. He hadn’t read the books since 6th grade). 

God, he hoped he wasn’t in Narnia. He didn’t think he could stand the irony. Though at least those kids got furnished with fucking coats before they got drop-kicked into blizzardsville. He didn’t even merit a scarf, apparently.

A cold trickle of water slid down his neck. He wiped it away, then dusted his hair, trying to get the rest of the snow off before it ended up soaking into his shirt. 

Makani blew on his hands, trying to warm them. Looking around there was a lot of nothing. Unless you were in need of snow, because there was a ton of that. No houses, no roads, no trees, no conveniently placed Starbucks with free wifi and giant cups of pumpkin spice lattes. The land wasn’t perfectly flat, but the rounded mounds of earth didn’t get past waist height before leveling back out again. He could easily see for miles. 

Miles and miles of nothing but snow. And him in the middle of it with nothing to warm him up or keep him dry. There was also a noticeable lack of glowing blue lights happily waiting to send him back home.

He was so fucking screwed.

Let this be a lesson to you kids: if it’s glowing and in the forest, just say no. Or you too can be a test case in how quickly hypothermia can set in.

He chose a direction at random, and started walking. If he was moving he would stay warmer longer. For whatever definition of longer that would be. Snow wasn’t currently falling from the sky, so he had that going for him. 

Makani sure knew how to appreciate the small things in life.

Snow started coming down after what felt like three years of walking. It stuck to everything, and even with his arms drawn inside his t-shirt he was freezing cold. His hands clung to his sides but he really couldn’t feel them anymore. His feet were better off, but the pants around his boots were wet and the tops of his socks were starting to slowly soak up the water. His lips were cracking from the cold, and he desperately wanted a drink, but he was terrified that if he stopped to scoop up some snow to melt in his mouth he’d never get started again. Plus, every bit of snow his body melted was a little more heat he lost. 

Something caught the edge of his boot and he went tumbling into a snow drift. With his arms inside his shirt he was unable to brace for impact and he landed face-first. The force of it pushed his arms into his chest and he gasped into the snow. Cold sticky flakes fell into his throat when he breathed back in, causing his lungs to seize and then cough out painfully in several long wracking jerks. 

Makani tried to climb back up. He only succeeded in flipping himself onto his back, trapped on the ground like a shelled turtle. His feet stopped listening to his brain no matter how loudly he told them to try again. 

At least he thought he told them to move. It was getting hard to distinguish between what he did and what he dreamed he wanted to do.

God, his throat hurt. Breathing sucked.

Somewhere high above the clouds the sun must have been shining pretty strongly because the clouds were so very bright. Like a flash going off in front of his eyes every time he blinked. It made it harder to keep his eyes open. He wanted everything to stop being so sharp and painful. When he did open them spots danced in front him. Makani could almost see shapes being formed and broken with each twitch of his eye. An alligator near the bottom of the horizon. A snake climbing the walls of the clouds. An eagle swinging left then right and all around above him. 

He huffed a laugh.

_Look, up in the sky!_

_Is it a bird?_

_Is it a...a plane?_

_No, it.._

_It is…is a…a...is’a…_


	3. Chapter 3

For the second time in so many hours Makani woke not knowing where he was. 

His muscles ached and he’d give his kingdom, his horse, and his lego castle for a glass of water, but he was not dead (maybe). He marked that in the win column.

He was less sure about the fact he was naked and in some type of tent-shelter thing. While being naked. He didn’t feel like that could be stressed enough. Naked plus him plus strange tent never equaled good things. At least whoever left him here sans clothing had kindly left some blankets to keep him warm. Even if they were scratchy as hell.

He blinked up at the top of the tent. It wasn’t very high, maybe three feet from the ground at its highest point. It didn’t look like plastic tarping like the stuff that made up his tent back in the land of Sense and Reality. The sun must be close to setting (or, maybe even rising. Hell, who knew?) so it was kinda gloomy, but even without a good look, he knew it wasn’t anything like his tent. Just like he knew the blankets around him were nothing like anything he’d felt before. 

They also smelled vaguely of wet animal. What kind, specifically, he couldn’t tell. But it wasn’t hard to miss. 

Makani drew them closer around him. 

He still remembered what the snow, piled up around him, felt like. He’d cuddle up to a mangy poodle if it meant he didn’t have to be that cold again.

Turning on his side so he could roll up into as close to a ball as he could, he saw that the rest of the small tent was filled with bags of several size. They were made of leather, worn in by use and not just distressed for style. None of them looked like something you’d buy at the local shopping mall. Maybe Etsy or a stall at a RenFair. Not that Makani had ever been to one of those, but it stood to reason.

Except, he didn’t think anything bought there would look a tenth as authentic as what was lying not two feet from his face. 

That scared the shit out of him.

Or, it would if he could get up the energy to be properly scared. Right now all he could muster was a small part of his brain going _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck._

He wasn’t really cut out for time-travel. Or alien abductions. Long-lost colony of cannibal miners? 

He lived most of his life in the middle of a fucking city. His brand of adventure was being talked into a week in the woods--in a campground that had bathrooms and a candy machine. He may have picked up the odd (hundred or so) historical fiction book, but didn’t mean he didn’t know exactly how long he would last without google and indoor plumbing. The answer being however long it had taken him to nearly walk himself to death in a snowstorm. 

Not very long at all.

When he had the energy he was gonna have a right good panic attack about this. Until then he was gonna try very hard to keep breathing (and find out where they--whoever they were--put his underwear. This blanket was hell on his ass). 

He must have drifted off at some point because a long bright burst of sunlight falling over his face woke him up. The opening to the tent was the only real source of light, and when someone had drawn it back the light has rushed into the tent, only to be blocked out almost entirely when a hunched figure ducked thru the opening.

Makani could only see the person in silhouette, but as far as he could tell they looked human--though bundled up in a thick coat/cape thing it would be hard to tell anyways. He moved “alien abduction” down a few spots on his list of Horrible No-Good Quite Possibly Life-Ending scenarios. 

They said something that sounded like a greeting. He just blinked up at them because... _what?_ They didn’t wait for an answer before kneeling down beside him on the narrow strip between the packs and his small pile of blankets. Most of their face was covered by scarf, but they did not seem very old, and their eyes were… Kind, maybe? They certainly didn’t look like the eyes of someone who was thinking about how well he’d go with a nice glass of white wine.

Holding out a battered tin cup, they offered it to him with another short sentence that was as incomprehensible as the first. They sounded female, but then again, who was he to judge? And, really, he didn’t care if they sounded like Lady Gaga or were speaking in Klingon because _sweet baby Jesus he was thirsty._

He sat up carefully--wondering if he could catch a ride home with the truck that must have run him over…twice--and carefully took the cup from their outstretched hand.

The water was warm and he seriously considered licking the cup when he’d finished it off. The person grabbed the cup back before he could actually do it. Though it was just to pour more water out of a canteen looking thing, before handing it back to him. Makani forced himself to sip at the water this time. His stomach felt a bit sloshy. Also it ached in a way that reminded him that the last thing he’d eaten was a slightly burnt smore some time yesterday.

“Thanks,” he said. From the tilt of their head it didn’t look like they understood him any better than he did them. Still, the sentiment must have been plain since they replied back with something probably resembling a "You’re welcome."

While he worked his way through his third cup he watched as they pulled down the scarf from around...her? face and let the hood fall off her head. She was smiling at him bemusedly. Makani tried to not think very hard about what he must look like. Swaddled in scratchy blankets with hair going in eighty different directions--this was not his A game. This wasn’t even his R game.

She said something he took to be a polite inquiry into his health.

He shrugged. “Eh, it’s nothing a few shots of tequila and a bat won’t fix.”

She nodded satisfied.

Makani tapped the rim of the half-empty cup. She studied him, he tried to make sure that the blankets covered as much of his skin as possible. Not that it mattered. Someone had stripped him naked and it sure as hell wasn't him. She’d probably seen all there was to see; which was more than he was entirely comfortable with. 

Before he could ask her any (rather pointless) questions a loud noise from outside the tent, followed by several voices, made him jump. They didn’t seem angry….but. 

He wasn’t sure if that made all that much of a difference right then.

She put her hand out to calm him. He put the cup in it.

He struggle to his feet. Looking around he noticed a glaring lack of clothing. His boots were by the door, but there wasn’t so much as a sock beside it. Well. Shit.

After doing a damn good impression of American Tourist in Foreign Land (large hand gestures followed by speaking so slowly even someone who spoke English would have trouble understanding him) he got a small pile of clothes--stolen from one of the packs--and quick lecture on what to do when he was done--she wasn't bad at oversize hand gestures, either. She then vanished back out into the sun.

He stared down at the clothes in his hands. This certainly was gonna be interesting. He dropped the blanket and took the shirt from the top of the pile.


	4. Chapter 4

That was probably the longest it’d ever taken him to get dressed. Up to, and including, the one time when he was four when he demanded to dress himself for his cousin’s wedding. He came by his loathing of tights honestly. This time Makani didn’t end up sitting in the middle of his living room crying while his mother tried to unknot the mess he made of his clothing, but it was a very close call. While he was fully clothed he wasn’t too sure that everything was where it was supposed to be. 

Before she had left the tent the woman had pulled a large worn cloak from one of the packs. There was a rip near bottom, and it was fraying around the edges. He took it gratefully nonetheless. He felt ridiculous when he swung it over his shoulders, but it was surprisingly warm and it covered up any clothing mishaps he had made. He was more than pleased that he could wear his own damn boots, though. 

Leaving the tent was like being punched in the chest. With an icicle. Makani didn’t think it’d’ve been possible for so much heat to be trapped by something so _primitive_ , but he’d gladly dive back into the tent if he could. 

His tent was only one of four. It was the smallest, though, and squished between two larger tents. There was a fire going in a pit not far from the tent on his left. He could smell something cooking. Something meaty. There was no one by the fire though, working on whatever it was. 

On the other side of the small camp was the largest tent. It was where everyone was. He could hear voices. Both male and female. More than two but other than that he couldn’t tell. Whatever they were saying was Greek to him. And probably to the Greeks as well. It sounded...like really old English. Except not. There were no Latin roots, no stolen French. But the cadence of it. The feel, was almost the same. It was a bit maddening, because it made him feel like he should know what they were saying but no matter how hard he tried the sounds defied definition.

He had the sudden fear that something had happened to him. More than just the seriously fucked up transporter malfunction or whatever it was that sent him here.

_Whatever you do, do not say_ Magic.

Had it fucked with his head? Were they speaking perfectly normally, and it was him sputtering gibberish? Like that chick that had surgery and came out speaking in English accent? Or maybe it was Russian…

He wrapped the cloak as best he could around himself. There were no buttons to hold it closed and no pockets to hide his hands. It was all highly impractical, he thought. And sometime in the last twenty-four hours he had lost the childlike glee of breathing into the cold air like a dragon.

The crunch of snow followed in his wake as he went to cross the empty space between the tents. He tried to remind himself that this time it was not the sound of certain death. It wasn’t till he had stepped past the end of tent to his right that he noticed the edge of a forest beside them. He had been in the middle of what seemed like an endless plain when he fell into the snow. There was no indication of how far whoever plucked him off the snow drift had taken him, but it must have been pretty far. 

He didn’t see any cars. Though after waking in the tent that time forgot, he didn’t really expect to. Maybe there were horses around here somewhere. Could you ride horses in the snow? He didn’t know. The only horses he’d ever seen up close were the ones that cops rode downtown in the touristy sections of the city--and Sacramento wasn’t exactly known for its white winters. Lately they weren’t even getting very damp ones.

Even though he’d been in the middle of a forest for the last week, looking over at the giant trees looming like sentries, he could tell they were two different beasts. Yosemite wasn’t _tamed_ but there was a certain safety offered on its well walked paths. Even if that safety was a false promise, you still felt it when you were there. Here...well, he wouldn’t call it Fangorn or the Mirkwood, but if there were ents walking around in there, he wouldn’t be all that shocked. It was old and edgy. Incredibly beautiful. Especially capped in snow. 

Wild horses couldn’t get him in there.

And god help him, there were probably gonna be horses at some point in the journey. He just knew it. 

Turning from the trees--though not turning his back for reasons he did not really wanna contemplate--he headed back towards the tent and its mysterious voices. 

He didn’t know the etiquette of entering tents. It wasn’t like he could knock on the door flap thing. Was he supposed to say something? Stand here till someone came looking for him? He was getting cold despite the cloak and warm clothes. He had no desire to just lurk outside, eavesdropping on their conversations. Eavesdropping lost a lot of its allure when you couldn’t understand what the fuck the eaves were dropping.

He cleared his throat, then in a voice that was a shade too loud to be polite, he said, “Um...Hello?”

He didn’t say is _anyone in there?_ because that’d be stupid.

The voices cut out suddenly, like a paused track. Then someone--a woman?--said something sharp. He backed up a few steps just in case whoever came out to meet him did it sword-point first.

If the didn’t have swords he would eat his shorts… Once he found out what they did with them, anyways.

The flap of--leather? Some type of canvas?--lifted to one side and the same woman who’d come to his tent earlier poked her head out and smiled at him. With a quick welcome-- _Come into my parlor, said the Spider to the Fly_ \--she stepped back so that he could pass by her into the tent.

She looked thinner without the bulk of her cloak around her. About his age or a little older, but there were no gray hairs on her head or wrinkles on her skin. Her curly brown hair was bound back behind her neck--though not very harshly--and there were loose strands framing her face. She was dressed much like he was, or how he suspected he was supposed to look like. 

When he crossed the threshold the winter cold vanished. His tent had not been cold, but this one was _warm_. Goosebumps crawled up his back. Makani reached back and scratched at it. The woman tried to take his cloak from him, but he sidestepped her. It might be too warm in here for him to wear it, but it was one more barrier between him and them. Plus, if he had to make a quick exit he didn’t wanna have to be negotiating a return of his (or whoever’s) cloak. The woman shrugged her shoulders and was probably laughing at him, though she was polite enough to not show it. He shrugged back, offering the only explanation he could. She was definitely laughing at him. In a nice way, he hoped.

A throat was cleared. Loudly.

Makani turned to look at the rest of the tent.

The bulk of the room in the tent was filled up with a large table. Which he assumed was not an actual table since he had no clue how they’d get one of those way out here in the middle of nowhere. He almost giggled at the idea of a pack of horses carrying IKEA boxes strapped to their backs. Large sheets of paper covered the entire thing. He couldn’t see all of them, but the largest looked like maps of some kind, and there were smaller sheets with some type of writing on them. Various writing or measuring utensils were holding the curled corners of the papers down which probably meant they were normally rolled up when stored. Makani didn’t recognize any of the locations on the maps or understand any of the markings.

Around the table there were three more people. Two men and a woman. The woman--who looked annoyed at something (probably him)--wasn’t very tall and was older than the woman who helped him earlier by at least a decade, if not two. She wasn’t wearing anything much different than the woman beside him, but she held herself differently. Like a cop or a Marine. Always on the look-out even when not dressed for duty. He didn’t see any weapons on her, but they’d be there. No doubt. 

She said something to the woman beside him, which was answered in equal unintelligible gibberish. Makani tried not to scowl. He hated not knowing what they were saying. He felt a hand press lightly on his shoulders and let himself be guided further into the tent. He kept the table between him and soldier lady. With a quick light grip of his arm the woman--and he was gonna have to do the whole _Me Tarzan, you G.I. Joe_ thing soon because he was getting tired of referring to everyone by their gender--passed behind his back and walked over to where a man was standing to Makani’s right. Something big and furry scrambled out from under the table and nearly tackled her to the ground. She didn’t seem worried. No one seemed worried. Though the man beside her was giving her a rather fond smile. 

Makani turned his attention back towards other woman. She was saying something to the man beside her. They looked about the same age, though if he was standing he looked like he would tower over her. Makani wondered if they fed their men around here Miracle Gro. Then he wondered if he could get some. He was fucking tired of having to stand on his toes to get things off the shelves in his kitchen. 

“Um…” he said after clearing his throat. Not all that theatrically, either. It felt like someone had tried to scrub his throat out with a hard-bristle brush. “Thanks and all for like not letting me die out there. I’m not really sure how you found me and stuff, but...thanks. I guess.”

Everyone in the tent focused on him. Silently. It was a bit creepy.

“I was wondering if I could have my clothes...and _stuff_...back?” he hurried on. “Not that these aren’t cool and all in that I just stepped out of the 10th century kind of way but...yeah...I’d kinda like to have my underwear back?”

They were just looking at each other in that _look there is a crazy person, don’t look him in the eye!_ kind of way.

Ok, it probably wasn’t that extreme, but it was hardly reassuring.

“Please?” It didn’t hurt to be polite.

Nothing. 

Well, he was hoping to avoid this, but if he had to look like a complete idiot to get his things back, so be it. He let go of his cloak, so the sides fell naturally open.

He pointed at his chest. “Me. Want. My. Clothes.” He tugged at the shirt-tunic thing he was wearing. He repeated it several times. 

Point. “ _Me._ ” 

Tug. “ _Clothes._ ”

There followed a conversation between the other people in the tent that probably went something like:

“I think he wants his clothes?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Should we give them to him?”

“If we don’t he’ll probably not stop acting like a fucking toddler.”

“That’s a little insulting to toddlers.”

“If they have a problem with it, they can come here and tell me themselves!”

“Dude, what did toddlers ever do to you?”

“Argh!” *stabs other person with sword*

…

Or, not.

Makani tried to look like he was paying attention to what was really going on. His nerves tightened his stomach. Or that could just be from hunger. It had that same vaguely nauseous feel that came when he hadn’t eaten for a while.

Whatever had been decided while he’d spaced meant that the man sitting next to the glaring lady got up and swiftly exited the tent. He ducked his head when he passed Makani. Makani couldn’t even see over the dude’s shoulder. Fucking Miracle Gro.

While they waited for his return the remaining man pressed a warm cup into Makani’s hand. It smelled of spice and apples. He drank hesitantly, but it seemed like nothing more than hot cider. He was still careful to not drink it too fast since he was unsure if it was cider or if it was _cider_. Getting plastered while stuck god knows where was not a good idea. The man also produced a small cake of bread and some cheese that was a bit crumbly but had some fucking awesome berries and nuts pressed into it. Makani was chasing the last few crumbs of it off his lips when the large man returned. He had a bag in his hands.

Instead of handing the bag to Makani he upended it over the table, letting the contents tumble over the papers. Makani watched as his still dirty, but at least now dry, clothes fell to the table. Both his pants and his T-shirt were turned inside out. Even if they didn’t look anything like what these people wore, the cloth and obvious machine stitching would no doubt be highly suspicious. It was what came out of the bag next that probably caused the most surprise though. He blushed furiously as, tangled in the crumpled up binder, his packer--still secure in its harness--bounced off the table and onto the floor by the man’s feet.

Makani dove at it without blinking.

The large man got there first. With one finger hooked through the soft harness, he held the packer aloft like some type of prize fish. 

With a curse Makani yanked it out of his hand. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude. You can’t just go around grabbing other guys’ dicks.” Even if they were not currently attached. 

The man didn’t look all that repentant though his ears had turned a bright red. 

There was laughter from around the table and Makani turned to glare at them. He didn’t know if he was seeing red, but he was blushing furiously and was pissed about it. The woman was the only one who met his eyes. There was something in them that almost made him keep his mouth shut, but he could hear someone’s failed attempts to hide giggle. 

He might not be able to speak a word of their language but he thought he did a passable job of telling them just what they could go do with themselves--props included--and then stormed out of the tent. He made it ten feet before he remembered his clothes strewn over the table. Stumbling to a stop he almost went back. But while temper tantrums were not tolerated in his house, he knew enough about them to know they were ruined horribly when you had to sneak back into the room you just stormed out of. He’d get his clothes later. Or not.

They would give him his binder back. The fuckers.

He wiped at his face. The cold was a bitch on his sinuses. 

God, it was like school all over again. Not high school, because he didn’t have the balls (purchased or otherwise) to come out in his extremely conservative catholic school, but university. Where everyone was supposed to be all “free-love” and “anything goes” but were mostly just reiterations of all the assholes in high school but with more ready access to intoxicants. Maybe if he’d been allowed to stay on campus it would have been different, but there was no way he could afford to move out of his house and still scrape up enough for tuition and books. 

He never looked enough like a guy to pass, and living at home with his parents meant that he couldn’t do much about looking less like a girl. They had Expectations. He had crippling Debt. And everyone else seemed to have a good laugh at his patched-together attempts at adulthood. 

He should go back in there and yell at them again. 

Makani stuffed his hands under his armpits to warm them up...and got a nice shock of cold from the rubber dick still clutched in his right fist. 

Jesus. 

Fucking.

Christ.

He just wanted to go home. To his crappy ass bed and limp sofa. He missed doors that (slammed) locked. Where he could cuss someone out and they’d know exactly what he was saying. 

Looking up at the grey sky he breathed deep, once, twice, and then willed his throat to relax around the knock sitting just below his jaw. 

He couldn’t go home. Not right now. He didn’t know how. He’d just have to do what he could till he figured out what the hell was going on. How hard could it be?

Turning towards his tent--for lack of better places to go if nothing else--he kept his eyes on his feet in the snow. If he looked just at the toes of his boots making their way through the small drifts he could imagine that he was back, hiking through Yosemite. It was just a really weird cold snap. Freak snow storm. Unseasonably cold.

_Nothing to see here, folks. Move--_

The earth tilted below his feet like one of those spiny platform things at the playground. He stumbled and fell...and kept falling till he fell into the nothingness around him. There was nothing to catch him, nothing to break his fall. 

He might have screamed, but there was no one around to hear.


End file.
